


Guilt

by ThatOneWriter15



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23866687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneWriter15/pseuds/ThatOneWriter15
Summary: She gets battered in a demon fight, and Castiel beatshimselfup for not being able to heal her.
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/Original Female Character(s), Castiel/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66





	Guilt

Despite forcefully gritting her teeth, muffled groans of anguish slip past her dry lips.

“Easy, easy,” Dean’s soothing voice sounds in her left ear. 

“Almost there,” Sam encourages from her right.

She curses as the brothers help her hobble to her bedroom’s doorway.

After the demon of the week launched her against an abandoned warehouse’s brick wall, sinking Castiel’s angel blade into the abomination was especially satisfying. But the high from her victory only lasted as long as the adrenaline did. 

Talking adds to the pain, but there’s something she’s gotta know. “Where’s Cass?”

“Behind you,” the angel speaks up, his head hung. Of all the times to be powerless… Hell, he didn’t even beat Sam or Dean to her side to assist her into the Bunker. 

Once there’s adequate clearance, Castiel slides in front of his three best friends. Quickly, he arranges her pillows so she can sit in bed as comfortably as possible. After flinging her sheets aside, he steps away to give the humans space. 

With a hand claimed by each of the Winchesters, she begins to lower herself into a seated position. Her injuries protest before she gets halfway down, and she shrieks as she stands up, teetering in Dean’s direction. 

“Whoa! I’ve gotcha.” Dean steadies her by clutching her forearm and elbow. She’s immobile as a statue as she catches her breath. 

Cass can’t watch her suffer any longer. She calls out to halt him, but his trench coat brushing against her doorframe as he exits is the only response she receives.

Sam gives her a smile. “I’m sure he’ll be back.” Well, he _hopes_ Castiel will be back. Understandably, the angel’s taking this one pretty hard.

Dean sticks to the mission at-hand. “C’mon, we gotta getcha in bed.”

“Gonna do this fast,” she announces. It’ll be torture, but it’ll be _done_. She releases her grasp on Sam and Dean.

“Don’t--” Sam tries to stop her, but she collapses onto the mattress, her rear sinking into the memory foam. Her nails claw at the fitted sheet as she allows the wave of physical distress to wash over her and recede. 

The Winchesters stay on alert. They extend their arms in her direction, ready to assist at her command.

Castiel returns with a glass of ice water--complete with a teal straw. Her favorite color. He exhales upon seeing she’s made it onto the bed.

Eyes clamped shut, she whispers, “Here goes.” With a roar, she pivots 90 degrees and hauls her spine to the collection of pillows Cass left for her.

While she lies panting, the angel stalks to the free side of her mattress and gingerly sits down at the foot of it. Castiel’s line of sight travels from her furrowed, sweat-slicked brow to Sam’s fingers as they nervously run through his hair to Dean’s wide, worried eyes. And all Cass can think is, _This is your fault_.

“That for me?” she croaks, barely nodding to the beverage in Castiel’s clutch. Her smile of thanks constricts the angel’s throat.

“Yes,” Cass answers even though it’s redundant. Before she has a chance to reach for the drink, he’s on his feet. The ice cubes tinkle as he positions the straw less than an inch from her lips.

“Honey, I can hold it,” she insists, procuring the glass. Her body’s still screaming, but lying down is far more comfortable than the trek to her room was.

His hands empty, Castiel retreats with a slight blush he’s hoping no one notices.

After she sips the water, Sam places it on her nightstand.

“I’m gonna grab the first-aid kit,” Dean declares with a feather-light pat on her shoulder. If they patch her up, maybe he’ll sleep tonight.

Sam pulls at the laces on one of her boots. “Can I get you anything else?” He pitches her dirty, discarded shoe into a distant corner.

“I’m fine,” she attempts to convince him. The bobbing of his Adam's apple tells her she’s failed.

Dean sweeps through the door and sets the med kit on her desk. Sam joins his brother as the metallic box’s clasps clink open.

“May I do it?”

Three pairs of eyes fall on Castiel. 

“You sure?” Dean inquires, his stomach tensing.

Sam shifts nervously. “Let us help you.”

“No, I-I can manage.” It’s the least Cass can do. He owes her this.

Sam’s mouth opens and closes. Dean fidgets with the gauze he’s holding.

“He’s got this,” she states. A fluttering comes alive in Castiel’s chest. “Besides, you two need to clean up.”

“It’s just a couple of scrapes,” Sam counters.

“Your knee is literally soaked with blood,” she retorts, rotating her wrist on the mattress just enough to point at Sam’s pant leg. A small smirk crosses Castiel’s lips upon the return of her cheeky ways. “And--I mean this in the sweetest way possible--you smell like the dead.” Dean brings the collar of his torn flannel to his nose and inhales. Her tone softens. “Go.” She glances at the angel. “I’m in good hands.” The gleam in her eye makes Cass never want to leave her side and bolt at the same time.

The Winchesters acquiesce and abandon the kit. Both brothers place a kiss on her forehead and then head for the showers.

Cass obtains an elastic bandage from the array of medical supplies. He’s witnessed Sam, Dean, and her nurse countless injuries; he’s familiar with a variety of techniques. But she appears so physically fragile, he’s petrified of hurting her more.

The angel inhales deeply and unrolls a few inches of the stretchy fabric. “I’ll tend to your ribs first.”

She huffs a laugh. “I was afraid you’d say that.” He squints at her. “No, never mind. Good plan.”

She lifts the hem of her striped t-shirt to the underwire of her bra, exposing her greatest injury. Castiel’s legs weaken, and he sits next to her on the bed. Her waist is a palette of magenta and eggplant.

The angel brushes two fingertips over the darkest hue, below her right breast. Seeing the person he cares for most being so intensely hurt… It breaks him. His face crumbles.

Her palm finds his thigh. “Cass…” 

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel whispers.

“Why, honey?” His self-loathing overshadows her term of endearment this time. “You didn’t slam me into that wall.” 

“Because I’m worthless.”

Her chest seizes. “What?”

His misty, oceanic eyes capture hers. “I’m not able to heal you.”

She replaces the bandage he’s still gripping with her hand. “If you hadn’t gotten to me when you did, I’d be in a lot worse shape.” Castiel shakes his head. “I mean it. I dropped the knife, and that thing was comin’ at me. Again. Without you tossing me your angel blade…” She’d be dead; she’s sure of it. But it’s probably best not to say so out loud. 

Cass swallows. “But you’re severely injured, and I can’t--”

“Hey.” Her thumb rises to his cheek, and she ignores the ache created by the movement. “You know how many humans have to make it on their own without having an actual, literal angel by their sides? Day in and day out, _billions_ get by. Give me a couple weeks of bedrest, and I’ll be as good as new.”

With his skin tingling under her touch, Cass opposes, “That’s too long of a duration.” He imagines the things--laughter, conversation, case details--she’d miss while cooped up in her room. “You don’t deserve to be... imprisoned. Pained.”

She scoffs. “Since when is life about getting what we deserve? You think you _deserved_ to have your grace stolen, hidden? You think you _deserve_ to be burning out?” Castiel’s stoic silence sinks her heart. “You _didn’t_ ,” she swears. “You _don’t_.”

“Regardless, what good am I? If I can’t assist you or Sam or Dean in your time of need--”

“Cass,” she cuts him off, not letting him deprecate himself any further. “Sam, Dean, and I... We don’t love you because of what you can do for us.” Sighing, she lifts his chin so he doesn’t miss a syllable. “We love you because you’re _you_.”

His jaw presses into her palm as he sobs softly. 

“C’mere. _Gently_.” She chuckles. 

Castiel lowers his temple to her collarbone, careful not to touch her anywhere else. She plants a kiss in his midnight hair. For the moment, he allows himself to swim in her assurance and a sense of self-worth he’d never considered.


End file.
